When my mum does a fry up, it somehow seems almost healthy. I suppose this is because it’s not really a “fry” up – most of the elements are either grilled or baked and the difference in levels of grease-induced self-loathing is quite remarkable. For some reason, though, I haven't learned from her example. This morning I fried bacon, mushrooms, tomatoes and egg all together in the same butter-smothered pan. Almost before I took the first bite I was regretting it. Maybe one day I’ll learn.
A walk in the fresh air to chase the bacon smell from my hair ended more successfully. I’m not a particularly chocolate-y person, in fact I can’t really bring myself to eat chocolate unless there’s a cup of tea nearby to wash it down with, but I can be persuaded to drink a good cup of hot chocolate on a cold day. Stumbling across Melt, a quite amazing chocolate shop on the Ledbury Road in Notting Hill, a good cup of hot chocolate is exactly what I found. I’m pretty certain it must be the most chocolatey hot chocolate in the world – an espresso-sized portion that seems to almost entirely consist of molten chocolate, with a subtle hint of mint (subtle being the important thing – if I hadn’t been told it was there I might never have known, so I’m not talking about some mint-choc-chip type horribleness) that managed to keep it just on the right side of too much chocolate.
However delicious Melt’s hot chocolate is, this doesn’t seem like an auspicious beginning. Hopefully future posts won’t paint quite such an unhealthy picture of my food habits, but to be honest, I can’t guarantee it.
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